| 87 days, 17 hours until the much-awaited glorious day (damn, I have so much to figure out) |
[02 Mar 2005|07:05pm] |
I last left off at the death of Grandma Robbins. I suppose that's to be expected. Life has been going on much as always, but I've noticed I don't write as much as I used to.
Not that there's nothing to say. There is.
I've been with the man I plan on spending the rest of my life with, and much hope is in him and our future family. That's invaluable and worthy of so much reflection and praise. I think of it constantly, and I am ever grateful, optimistic, and endlessly smitten. Yet, for written words, I come up empty more often than not.
I just don't know how to say much anymore. Sometimes I feel as if my social skills have dropped off some proverbial radar. I can talk to Liam about anything, and to my family about a lot. Many of my other interactions, though, seem a blur. I can talk to about anyone in passing, manage to get a few smiles, and have, what I percieve to be a damned worthwhile time. But when it comes to asking if I can join someone for lunch, I'm as fucking shy as I was as a kid. Not that they'll reject me, but that I'll interrupt them. I'll come in at the middle of a conversation, miss the context, and feel like a total ass. Or, they'll have to adjust the conversation to include me, in which I'll feel like an intrusion. I just can't approach people. This sounds weird coming from me, I suppose, because many people I know regard me as articulate, witty, intelligent, thoughful, and all-around a good conversationalist. But honestly I find navigating through allegedly simple interaction increasingly difficult.
Oh, how hard it is to articulate how I find it hard to express much of anything! Damn me!
And now, for the epitome of unexplainable: I've been secretly thinking about it for years, now especially with Grandma Robbins' recent death, I feel somewhat lead to become a professional printer. I know that sounds odd as hell coming from a sociology major, especially considering my GPA and the fact that I've got a number of people expecting me to contine in academia and eventually become a prof or researcher. There seems to be an unspoken protocol that people like me should go to grad school. So, this desire to go into the labor force doing something that will get my hands dirty every day of my career seems odd, I suppose.
But, in all honesty, as much as I enjoy (most) everything that's involved in the academic track... I love working with my hands. I printed in high school and loved it, and have been involved in layout up to the beginning of this year.
And, I admit, there's a bit of a family honor thing. Cromwell Advance was founded by my great-great-grandfather and has been in the family for just short of a century. Maybe I'm being unjustly sentimental, but it seems that soeone who appreciates the legacy should be at the head and at the heart of the business. Grandma and Grandpa Wallace are that exactly that now, but they are past retirement age and would like to settle down at some lake house and relax. But first, the shop needs to be attended to, either sold to some individual to carry on the Cromwell Advance, or some business to buy it and strip it for it's assets. As I insinuated before, I would much prefer the former.
It's not going to happen tomarrow. I'm not that naive. But I could probaly start out the beginning of next year as an apprentice of sorts after I'm done with classes, and devote much time and relentless attention in mastering the zen of printing and the rules of managing a small business (A few classes in the latter would be wise). Then, once I build up the confidence in my work and secure a loan.
And all that won't even be that easy.
We are not a perfect family. There are, as with many other families, things that need abandoned, forgotten, or outgrown--hurts, ideosyncracies, half-baked ideas, past mistakes, and so forth. This, though, needs salvaged. It is, in my mid, unquestionably worth my effort.
Just so much to figure out and so much that I have to convice myself that it's not out of my reach.
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